Could You Love A Poet


He's undisciplined, nothing is absolute

His body unruly and almost never resolute

Voracious is his terrible ceaseless passion

He dare not face desire in any fashion


Their feral nature overtakes and consumes

His inferno of emotion comes in endless plumes

Up to them he slowly and slyly slides

Along the outskirts of his nature he hides


Always performing sweet verbal machination

Trembling fingers holding his trepidation

What he says to others he cannot hear

Divorcing him from the world he holds so dear


Tremoring fingertips to hold his grip now faining

His desires and passions caged with his tears raining

In those few seconds when his eyes are held wide

His indelible unsatisfiable need for love he can't hide